The Mirror of Erised
by Altra Palantir
Summary: Spoilers for HBP. I can't say more than that. Please read only if you have FINISHED the sixth book.


WARNING: This contains spoilers to Book Six. If you haven't finished it, and read this fic, I am not responsible for ruining to book for you. You have been warned. If you have finished book 6, please enjoy. 

Disclaimer: Not mine, or I'd know the outcome of all of this mess. Theverse at the endis from "Light of a Fading Star"by Flogging Molly.

Author's note: I didn't think I would do this, but here's my bit on the end of HBP.

* * *

Harry needed to find McGonagall now. Halfway to her old Transfiguration classroom he stopped, mentally hit himself in the forehead, and pulled the Marauders' Map from his pocket. Sliding back into an alcove, he searchied for her name.

"Minerva McGonagall" was standing in in a room on the third floor, near where the Philosopher's stone had been kept so long ago. Harry dashed towards her, checking every so often to see if she had moved. She hadn't. She wasn't even pacing. It was as if she were glued to the spot. Harry began to run faster.

He flung open the door, wand at the ready, to find Professor McGonagall staring at the Mirror of Erised. He breathed a sigh of relief, putting his wand away.

"Professor, I need to get into your office. What's the password?"

She ignored him.

"Professor! I need the pensieve," he added anxiously, stepping forward.

She still ignored him.

He was right behind her now. "Professor?" he asked, touching her sleeve. She still didn't move. Harry had now lost patience and swore.

"Minerva!" he bellowed, shaking her shoulder. She shrieked, stunned as he was by his use of her first name. She turned to him with tears in her eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" she tried to ask sternly. Harry started to feel a twinge of pity.

"The pensieve, Professor," he repeated, less harshly than before. Crumpling a bit, she glanced back at the Mirror. Harry's face softened as he tried to understand the sadness in her eyes. The pensieve could wait five minutes.

"What do you see, Professor?" he asked the Headmistress.

She bit her lip, trying hard not to cry. "I see Albus." she said simply. "Offering me a lemon drop just after he's spectacularly lost another game of chess..." McGonagall could contain it no longer and began to sob uncontrollably into Harry's shoulder.

He patted her back awkwardly. He had never expected to see his stern, powerful Transfiguration Professor crying. As uncomfortable as it made him, he was no longer surprised. He had realized at Dumbledore's funeral that he would have to be the strong one now. The fate of the wizarding world, and perhaps the muggle world too, rested on his shoulders, as corny as that sounded. It was this that made him finally push the Headmistress away.

He held her at arms' length. "Minerva, I need Dumbledore's pensieve and it is in your office. May I have the password?" Harry asked, with a tone of comfort and firmness that he hadn't known he possessed but McGonagall recognized as her own.

"Yes, Harry." she replied, drying her eyes with a handkerchief he hadn't seen her retrieve. She steeled herself, pointedly looking away from the Mirror. "The password is 'Lemon Drop'." Quickly she closed her eyes to prevent the tears that threatened to come. Harry bolted towards the door, and then stopped just before he passed through.

"Professor," he ventured timidly, not quite knowing what possessed him. "Talk to Ginny -or Mrs. Weasley if you get the chance. She'll make you feel better." With that, he was gone before he pushed his luck any further.

And just knowing that The Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the probable savior of the world, cared, enough to say something, made Minerva McGonagall feel better than she had since the Headmaster went away.

* * *

Dedicated to the memory of the only wizard Voldemort ever feared.

_And the light of a fading star _

_Is what you were, is what you are _

_Like the glow that christens the moon _

_You shone too soon, you shone too soon_

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

_"After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."_

* * *


End file.
